Easter is coming. From what my mom told me growing up, Easter is more important than Christmas to Catholics since Jesus and God saved us. I am not Catholic myself anymore for my own personal reasons. I am Christian and I am thinking of becoming Baptist. My mom was a devout Catholic. If she were here, as much as she did not approve of me leaving the church, she would be thrilled I would want to be in a church. She was practically jumping for joy when she discovered I liked quartet gospel. She was thankful to my fiancé for that one.
Easter was special to my momma. She always loved to cook. She was an AMAZING cook. Some years were not as warm outside yet the holiday felt warm. With the spring colors and feelings of joy spending time with relatives. The only thing that would make my mom sad right now is that her family is no longer together. The last time I spent any real-time with them was at her memorial. I miss them immensely. I grew up with them.
In light of Easter coming, I hope all my family is safe and happy. I hope my mom gets to enjoy all that she couldn’t on this Earth in heaven. She deserves the best. Love you mom.
Saturday, if my mom had been alive, I truly believe she would have been proud. Heck if she could have, she would have marched with the kids saying #enough. That makes me smile. Knowing how she would have stood up and said this is #Enough.
My mom was a lot stronger than many give her credit for. I am not talking about her eating disorder. I am talking about the rest of her. She is a survivor of abuse. She is a survivor in life. She loved to bring beauty into the world. She loved to bring kindness and caring, especially to those who really needed it.
My mom instilled in me the desire to stand up for people less fortunate. The ones who don’t seem to have a voice. Way too often those who are struggling for the basics do not get heard. People simply want to look at them with preconceived notions. Not my mom. Mom had a gift of looking past all of that. Yes, some of the disenfranchised were there because of mistakes they made. However, last time I checked, none of us are perfect. Mom knew, even the poor and other groups the some people like to ignore, had a voice that deserved to be heard.
To me, the most beautiful people in the world realize the importance to give back even if cameras are not rolling. This was my mom.
I don’t know how my mom did it. I really don’t. I wish I did. I wish I could ask her but I can’t. At least not in this physical world and hear her voice. Her body is now ashes. I still talk to her. I feel her. It’s not the same but I am grateful for that.
My sleep is all messed up. I get that from my fibromyalgia and a little from my mom’s side. It’s not unusual for us not to sleep well. Unfortunately, I can not only exist on coffee like my mom did. It messes with my heart (probably because I am obese) and after a while caffeine does not seem to affect me, or it makes my nerves so excited I just can’t sleep.
Take today for example. I was going to get a few hours before I get some work done. I was sleepy. Feeling too tired to crochet or even exercise I got ready for bed. My body said just kidding. My nerves yelled part-time everyone and the dance of me having a hard time staying still began. Yes, this is even with my meds. There are other things that could be causing this. Some of it being TMI. I tend to get monthly flares like this hence the TMI. So Instead of getting some beauty sleep, I am at my laptop typing up a storm. Wishing like hell I could ask my mom how she did it. or at least lay on the couch with my head in her lap and she ran her fingers through my hair. That was a comforting feeling. The truth is I can’t. I have to comfort myself and I don’t know how to make the nerves stop.
My mom was active. Constantly cleaning. Taking a walk. None of that is really an option for me right now. My fiancé is sleeping, God love him. We rent a house but, its kind of small. Not too small, it fits us fine but still a little small. Since I am not known for being quiet on my feet I do not want to disturb him. They are doing work outside on the gas line so the sidewalk is closed–no fresh air walk for me. I feel too tired for the treadmill. Still my upper back is tight.
It’s strange how much I admire my mom’s ability to push herself to keep going even though that was part of her downfall. If she had stopped and gone to the doctor when she was having pain, the cancer might have been managed. We will never know. Now I have to handle it. I have no parent to lead me on this journey of hellish nerves. My dad never had a problem with sleep so it would be difficult for him to understand. He would say, “its your body, you have control over it after all”. Sometimes, I wish I could be more like my mom.
Instead I try desperately to relax. My fibro nerves as i call them just won’t cooperate. I feel them twitching all around. Maybe if I take myself back to where I could take refuge on my mom’s lap that would help. If not, I just have to make it on my own, with or without sleep.
Last night I had a dream. It war was longer. She looked good. She was wearing one of those granny nightgowns that she used to wear and her hair was longer. She was happy
As soon as I saw her I yelled MOM!! and I ran to her hugging her. I could feel a little bit of anger, though I don’t thing it was towards me. It seemed like we hugged for the longest time. I did not want to let go. I could really feel her.
One of the things in life I always wanted to do even when we weren’t getting along, was a hug a day. They didn’t always go as planned but I tried to maintain that connection.
I loved that hug from my mom in my dreams. After my dad passed not quite 11 years ago, I was so frustrated. I wanted to feel some connection to him like some others did and I didn’t. Even my ex would brag about it and I missed him immensely. I felt him a few times but, not like I wanted or needed. I would often talk to my mom about that. Not because I wanted to hurt her, I just missed him so bad. Seeing my mom in my dreams last night was awesome. Being able to hold her and hug her tight without worrying I was going to break her was amazing. That I will also cherish.
Somedays, I do not know how my mom did it. She got very little sleep. Granted the amount of coffee she consumed probably did not help. She would be lucky to get a couple to 4 hours of sleep. Yet, she worked harder than anyone I have ever known.
I finally got about 5 hours of sleep yesterday. I have been up ever since though I am hoping to get a little bit more sleep. I am not like my mom. Because of my fibromyalgia, I do not tolerate lack of sleep well, have insomnia, and I can’t drink as much caffeine as she did. I do not function well.
I wish I was able to do half of what she did but without the exhaustion.
Although it is cold outside, it looks beautiful. My mom would have been up well before now. Even when I was a kid she would wake me up on the weekend at 9am and tell me I was sleeping half the day away. I just groaned.
Mom was almost always up early. Even on the weekends. She would get up at four and start drinking pots of coffee. Yes I said pots. She always gave thanks to the coffee gods.
Sometimes I likes how she would get up early. If she was making a soup, like her famous hamageur
soup, the house would smell so good. It would cook for hours. I loved those times.
Of course there were chores to do. That’s not a bad thing though. I am not as good as my mom was. My house is cluttered and needs a little love. I remember watching her once and seeing how everything had to be perfect when she cleaned but never seeing a smile on her face. Even at that young age, I knew life was too short for that. If my mom were at my house she would cringe right now. It’s not dirty mind you…. just cluttered.
The last several years of her life she was a big walker. Both day and night. Hell, I couldn’t even keep up with the woman. She would walk for at least an hour each time. I have a treadmill that I will start using and the gym isn’t too far away. I am going to get back to a healthy weight. I look at our sidewalks and I can picture mom walking. As much as I would love to do that this season during the daytime, they are going to be putting in new gas lines in by our house. At least I have other options tho.
Now I picture my mom with her wings sitting on a wrap around porch, finally enjoying the things she never allowed herself. She is with my aunt and grandparents. She is with friends that have gone on before her and of course my sister that did not survive childbirth. I picture on a porch swing enjoying her coffee in heaven knowing she never has to deal with her demons again. She is free and smiling. That is what I think of when the sun is out, and we have a beautiful day. Enjoy it mom.
All I ever grew was weeds. I think partly because it gets so hot and you have to tend the garden, like a lot. When I was young I wasn’t into all that. Even now, I do not get excited about a well manicured lawn. Yea it looks great don’t get me wrong. For me, all I care about is that its cut. That is it.
Now my mom was amazing. She could grow anything. Beautiful flowers. Great looking vegetables. I never felt drawn to be out when it was blistering hot out sweating just to pull some weeds and water them at just the right time. I have no issue with the dirt thing. It’s the blazing summer heat. With my porcelain skin especially now that I am 43 I burn very easily and I do not tan. In fact, I put on sunscreen and have to reapply. Now that I get hot flashes the whole thing seems less appealing to me.
Every now and then, I think about getting one of those wooden things you can stack to plant things. We have clay in our yard and there is no way I am taking a rototiller to that, especially with my fibromyalgia. Besides, then my fiancé would probably insist on doing that and he has enough on his plate.
When I get these urges, I often times say, “I hear ya mom but, that was your thing” Maybe, I just miss seeing all the colors of the flowers and all the vegetables. Not that she had a big farm. But she loved to work out in the yard. Yea, that gene skipped me. Even tho I sometimes thing about it, I know I won’t do it. The reality is I am not my mom. I do not ever remotely have a green thumb. I get no enjoyment from yard work.
If anything, I will be inside writing or working on my crafts. I may be making a mosaic or crocheting/knitting. That is where my heart is. I love creating art. I love the transformation. I will still admire others yards and the beautiful flowers. I will enjoy the memory seeing the hard work will bring me of her. My mom was no stranger to hard work and creating beauty of her own.